The Fire In Which We Burn
by whynoy
Summary: He would do everything in his power to keep her from remembering. Will it be enough? SS/HG Complete
1. Forget and Smile

**Title:** The Fire In Which We Burn  
**Author:** whynoy  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Snape/Hermione  
**Word Count:** 12,000  
**Disclaimer:** JKR owns. I play. You don't sue.  
**Summary:**_._ He would do everything in his power to keep her from remembering. Will it be enough?  
**A/N:** _To A. - best friend, soul sister and tax consultant._

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**One**** – Forget and Smile**

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_Better by far you should forget and smile,_  
_Than that you should remember and be sad_

:

He sat silently by her bedside, mesmerised by the rhythmical rise and fall of her chest. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows of the Hospital Wing, bathing her in an ethereal glow. She looked so peaceful in her sleep, one would never guess what she had just gone through.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when he had last had the opportunity to openly watch her. For seven years he had forced himself to make a mental distinction between his first love and the girl in his Potions class, pretending they were two different people, but now that the circle of time was complete, those two people had converged in the sleeping woman he was staring at.

Despite his efforts, there had been moments through the years in which the fine line separating those two Hermiones seemed to disappear. Moments in which he got brief glimpses of the woman she would one day become and was overwhelmed by an irrational fear of her. A fear that generally translated into a particularly venomous attitude towards her and her insufferable friends and much point deduction from Gryffindor.

He had to admit that he hadn't been as successful in applying the same dichotomy to Hermione as to himself. But then again, it was so much easier in his case. After all, what was he now that he had been then? Every vestige of the boy he once was had been burnt out of him with the Dark Mark. Severus absently rubbed his left forearm at the thought and realised the necklace was still firmly clutched in his hand.

In time he had come to hate that emerald pendant because it was the symbol of a promise made not by him, but by a fool he couldn't think of as himself anymore. A promise his present self would never be able to keep. Not that Hermione could ever want him to. Even if what she had felt was really love, it was for his _other _self, not for the former Death Eater two decades her senior.

And there lay the only flaw in this logic, the only hole in his otherwise perfectly spun web of rationalisation and denial. Hermione had been entirely aware of what he was bound to become, and yet she… Had she perhaps thought she could alter his future? No, she wasn't reckless enough to dare play with the laws of Time Turners.

It was hard to explain, especially considering all the paradoxes of time travel, but Hermione had indeed influenced his choices, even though he remained the only one to ultimately blame for them, of course. Still, as terrifying as the thought was, she _had_ been an important part of his motives to follow the Dark Lord.

He had desperately wanted to become worthy of her for the time when they would meet again, and had let Voldemort's promises of unlimited wealth and power blind him. Severus almost laughed out loud at the irony. His love for a Muggleborn -though at the time he obviously ignored that detail- had fuelled him both to first join and then betray the Dark Lord. The years in between… well, darkness has a hunger that's insatiable, and for a long time he had been too occupied feeding it to hear the faint call of the Light.

But there was no use in wondering or trying to understand the workings of fate, it was all in the past anyway. His and now hers, too. Hermione had given him three months of utter happiness. That was all. He had no right to… no, no right whatsoever.

'And what right do you have to steal her memories away from her?' a nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore's said in the back of his mind.

Why was he allowed to do this? 'Because it's necessary', came the automatic reply. And that was what his life had been reduced to, since she had left so many years ago. Nothing but acts of necessity. A string of incompletes all lacking the same key element.

Suddenly feeling very old and weary, he sighed and raised his wand.

"_Legilimens_!"

He saw Hermione in Dumbledore's office, crying, when the door opened and Snape's seventeen-year-old self appeared. He felt her surprise, her anticipation. Barely an ounce of fear, he noted. He had probably been more afraid of her then than the other way around…

Hermione was now sitting at a small desk facing a window, surrounded by books and charts and quills, scribbling frantically on a piece of parchment. He was leaning against the wall, watching her in undisguised awe…

The next moment she was kneeling on the rug beside a glowing fireplace; her smile warm and inviting as she held out a hand to him. The love she had felt at that moment, that he could now feel himself, ran through his chest like a dagger and he lowered his wand.

There they were, the happiest days of his life. Had they truly existed? Had he ever really been so foolish as to believe they would last?

He breathed deeply, steeling himself for what he was about to do, for what _had_ to be done. He tried to convince himself that this wasn't a choice, but a responsibility. It was his responsibility to free her of those memories, he _owed_ her. A thought crossed his mind that the past twenty years had been merely the preparation for this precise moment.

Closing his eyes, he raised his wand once more and whispered, "_In memoriam sepultus_".

:

_Quote from Christina Rossetti's 'Remember'. I listened rather obsessively to 'Hurt' by NIN while writing this chapter__, suits the mood quite well, I think. There are also a couple of references to John Mayer and the Indigo Girls. Many Chocolate Frogs and points to your House for spotting them!_


	2. In My Memory Locked

_Thank__ you so much to everyone who reviewed! You even spotted the borrowed lines! __Btw, __I can assure the reviewer who hinted at similarities with 'Tragic Circle' –and left me very worried by doing so– that I immediately went to read it and they have nothing in common._

_This story focuses on a part of Time Turner stories that in my opinion is not given enough attention to, namely what happens when Hermione comes back to the present. In this chapter you'll find a few shout outs to typical Time Turner fic elements - it's not really resorting to the cliché, it's more like… playing with it.__ ;P _

_._

**Two**** – In My Memory Locked**

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_'Tis in my memory locked,__  
and you yourself shall keep the key of it. _

:

Even before opening her eyes, Hermione could tell where she was. Only Hogwarts Hospital Wing had that smell, and after seven years of escapades which inevitably ended with her or her friends there, she could have recognised that obscure combination of healing potions and disinfectant anywhere.

"It seems she's finally coming to, Poppy," she heard someone say.

"Prof… Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked and tried to open her eyes, but it turned out to be too painful and made the dizziness come back. There was a faint rustling and she felt a cold hand over her forehead.

"Quiet, dear. Try not to make any rushed movements," Madam Pomfrey said softly in her ear.

"Wh… what happened?"

And then it all came back to her. Dumbledore had tried to send her back… or forward… her thoughts were too confusing, they were making her head pound. She made another attempt at opening her eyes and before her appeared two blurry Headmasters that melted into one once she adjusted her gaze and the dizziness receded slightly. Next to him stood the Nurse, who threw Hermione a sympathetic look and left for her office, muttering something about Nau-Nausea Potion.

"Why am I in the Hospital Wing?"

"You passed out and have been unconscious since yesterday evening," Dumbledore answered.

"When… what year is it?"

"1998," another voice from her left said. "You're home now, Hermione."

"Professor McGonagall? Did I… did it really happen?"

"Yes, child. You had an accident with your Time Turner and… and spent three months in 1978."

She looked out the window. The sky seemed far too gloomy for May.

Answering her unspoken question, Dumbledore said, "But less than a day has gone by in our time since you fell down the stairs."

"How… how is that possible?"

"We don't know yet. But the important thing is that you arrived safe and in one piece. I was never completely certain whether you had managed to make it home unharmed, when I sent you back. You have kept us wondering for twenty years, you know."

"Oh," was all the answer she could come up with. Now that she was back, it all seemed too surreal, too bizarre to be true.

A very agitated Madam Pomfrey materialised from behind the white screen separating her bed from the others. "Messrs Potter and Weasley insist on seeing Miss Granger at once, but I've…"

"Harry and Ron are here?" Hermione interrupted her.

McGonagall had moved closer to the bed and was now nervously smoothing the covers. "Hermione…" she started, looking very uncertain as to how to continue. "There are some – er – _details_ that we should perhaps discuss before letting your friends in."

"Details?" Hermione asked. She really had no idea where the conversation was going, and apparently neither did her Head of House, because she was looking at Dumbledore like a shipwrecked searching for a lifesaver. The elderly wizard cleared his throat and leaned towards Hermione in an almost conspiratorial manner.

"We believe it would be safer for you if no one knew about your… adventure. I'm afraid some might speculate there were ulterior motives in your visit to the past. Certain people are likely to wonder whether you tried to alter particular events."

"But I didn't!" Hermione exclaimed, offended.

"I know, child. However, it's your safety we have to consider here and, even though the Ministry has neared its position to the Order's since the beginning of the War, Minister Fudge systematically distrusts those students who have showed their loyalty to me in the past."

"Not to mention what the Daily Prophet would have to say about my little trip if they found out, right?"

Dumbledore merely nodded in response.

Hermione let out a deep breath. "What about Harry and Ron?"

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a quick look.

"Am I supposed to lie to them about where I have been the last three months? Don't you think they'll suspect something?"

"Hermione," Dumbledore began, "as far as your friends and the rest of the school are concerned, you simply fell down the stairs and had to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. You never left the present."

"Besides, Potter might feel you are holding back… answers," said McGonagall.

"Answers? About what?"

"Well, about – er – his parents, mainly," McGonagall finished apologetically.

"But I didn't even _meet_ James and Lily!"

"We know", the Headmaster took over, "and I realise how much self-restraint on your part this shows, but that doesn't change the fact that Mr Potter might…"

"Oh my God, you think Harry would resent me for not warning them!"

Dumbledore sighed. "You must try to understand his point of view, Miss Granger."

"I… yes, certainly. I had just never given it any thought. I mean, sure, I realised they were there, completely oblivious, but… the risks that would come with telling them… do you really think Harry would hold it against me?"

"Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him and personally, I believe he has more than enough on his shoulders as it is."

"Of course, I - I won't tell anyone." After a moment, "Who else knows?"

"Besides the three of us?" he said, gesturing to himself, McGonagall and the nurse. "Well, Professor Flitwick. He helped me with the spell to send you to the future. And Professor Snape, of course."

Snape. She had forgot about him. It was hard to believe that the shy scrawny seventh year that had tutored her in secret during those three months was the same person as the Professor who had tried to make hers and her friends' lives hell for almost seven years.

Dumbledore's voice yanked her out of her thoughts. "I believe you should try to get some sleep now. After all, you must be exhausted. I'll make sure Madam Pomfrey," he nodded in the direction of the mediwizard, who was looking at them disapprovingly, "allows Mr Potter and Mr Ronald Weasley to visit you before breakfast."

And with that he stood up and left, ushering a very anxious Minerva McGonagall towards the door. Hermione sighed and obediently opened her mouth to swallow the foul-smelling potion Madam Pomfrey was holding under her nose.

_- July 1st, 1991. -_

"Lemon drop?"

Snape shook his head curtly.

"Perhaps one of these toffees? They're quite delightful, I assure you."

"I presume you haven't requested my presence in your office to chat about Muggle sweets, Headmaster."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Always to the point, eh? The fact is I thought it would be wise if we discussed some of the… new arrivals for the coming school year in advance, so that you would have more time to prepare, Severus."

"If this is about the Potters' brat, Albus, I guarantee I am more than enough _prepared_. Though Arithmancy may not be my field of expertise, I am certainly able to count to eleven."

"I'm glad to hear that, but I'm afraid this has nothing to do with Harry." Dumbledore surveyed the younger wizard over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "You surely remember your seventh year and the… incident involving a certain young lady that happened to join us for three months. Don't you, Severus?"

Snape felt his insides give an unpleasant lurch.

"Although you were the only student who knew of her existence, there were certain details about her… provenance that we believed had to be concealed from anyone other than Professor McGonagall and myself. Miss Granger -that's her last name, by the way- came from…"

"The future, I know," Snape interrupted him.

Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow slightly but made no other sign of surprise. "Did she tell you?"

"She didn't, I merely deduced it myself."

"I see. Did you also fathom 'when' she was coming from?"

The seed of an idea started to form in Snape's mind, but it couldn't be – no, it was impossible, utterly ridiculous…

"She'll be coming to Hogwarts this September, Severus. She received her letter last week and has answered today."

It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, all he was able to do was sit frozen and try to grasp the enormity of what Dumbledore had just revealed.

Hermione.

Hermione was coming back.

As an eleven-year-old.

Dumbledore's office started to blur before him and he gripped the leather arms of the chair he was sitting in, his knuckles white, desperate for some kind of support.

Was he supposed to sit through her Sorting, was he expected to stay and watch her for seven years… oh Merlin, would he be expected to _teach_ her? He closed his eyes at the thought.

"If I'm no longer needed, Albus, I have matters to attend to," his absurdly calm voice said from somewhere far away, as if it didn't belong to him.

"Certainly, certainly. I won't hold you any longer, Severus."

Still numbed by that same strange feeling of disconnection from his own body, he wordlessly left the Headmaster's office and swept through the empty corridors of the castle in his desperate flight towards the dungeons.

Only once he had reached his quarters did he allow the tears to fall.

:

_Quote from Hamlet._


	3. Abysm of Time

_A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to review.__ And the fun finally begins!_

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**Three**** – Abysm of Time**

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_How is it this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else,__  
in the dark backward and abysm of time?_

:

The lake looked like a pool of molten gold as the rising sun reflected upon the water. From the shore, she absently gazed at the concentrical waves made by the giant squid every time its head peeked above the surface. Suddenly, a pair of warm arms enveloped her from behind.

"I thought you weren't allowed to leave your rooms during the day," he purred in her ear, making a shiver run down her spine.

"I was beginning to go insane locked up in there. Besides, it's not as if I was likely to bump into anyone at this time of the morning."

"Well, I found you, didn't I?"

"But you were looking for me."

"That I was." He spun her around softly and lowered his mouth to hers.

After a moment, he reluctantly broke the kiss. "There's something I've been meaning to give to you." He reached into the inside pocket of his robes, producing a small black velvet box which he handed to her. She opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a simple white gold chain with one single square-shaped emerald as a pendant.

"I'd like you to have this. It belonged to my mother."

"Oh, but I can't…," she started to protest, but he placed a finger over her lips to shush her. Taking the chain from her hand, he swiftly unclasped it and fastened it around her neck.

"I don't know what to say," she said as she caressed the green gem.

"Well, you can't go wrong with a simple thank you, you know," he teased. "Traditional and to the point."

She giggled and threw her arms around his neck, covering his lips with her own.

Hermione Granger jerked awake and sat bolt upright in bed as if electrified. She shifted to her side and curled up, squeezing her eyes in a desperate attempt to fight the consciousness that crept up on her.

Eyes firmly shut, she tried to hold on to the weak shreds of the dream. She concentrated fiercely, but the harder she tried to distinguish the man's features, the blurrier they became. She could still feel those arms around her, she still relished in that feeling of being so loved, so cherished. It had felt so real… but all dreams are supposed to feel real, said a sceptical voice inside her head.

She looked at the clock on the nightstand beside her bed. Five thirty. Sighing, she hugged her pillow and closed her eyes, but after a short while she abandoned any attempt to go back to sleep. The dream had unsettled her far too much, mainly because it was far from the first of that kind that she had had lately. They had started one week ago, after what she mentally called 'the incident', and now came nightly, it never failed.

The worst of all was her absolute certainty that she _knew_ the boy in her dreams. She had read enough Freud to obsess over the idea that her subconscious was trying to tell her something important, to point her to _someone_ she already knew and obviously had feelings for.

She looked again at the clock on her nightstand. Almost six. Groaning, she untangled herself from the covers and left the bed. Since she was obviously not going to fall asleep again, she should at least try to use her vigil in a productive way. She tiptoed to her desk to pick her copy of '_Insanely Advanced Transfiguration_' and rushed back to bed as fast as she could. No matter how strong the Warming Spells she cast, they didn't seem to have the slightest effect on the icy stone floor of the Head Girl's room.

Hermione propped herself up against the headboard and placed the heavy book on her lap. After staring at it for a couple of minutes, she finally pushed it towards the far edge of the bed. As fascinating as the subject of human Transfiguration was, she really didn't feel like delving into it at the moment. She let out a snort. How unlike her. How unlike Hermione the bookworm to turn down a book.

Strange as the feeling was, it wasn't the first time she had experienced it in the last few days. It was the weirdest sensation, having to adjust oneself to one's own life, and for whatever reason, she felt oddly detached from that life since she had come back.

Perhaps it was the fact that she was now three months ahead in all of her subjects, so her usual obsession with classes had receded, but it was something else, she knew. She felt herself drifting apart from her previous life in general and her friends in particular.

It made her feel uncomfortable, sitting with them in the common room and having to talk about Quidditch and classes and whatnot and not sharing with them what was probably the most important thing that had happened to her in… well, _ever_. She felt as if she was betraying her best friends, and with that feeling came an amount of guilt she couldn't free herself of, no matter how often she repeated Dumbledore's words in her head. So she had ended up avoiding them at all costs. Not that they had noticed anything amiss. As far as Harry and Ron were concerned, the upcoming NEWT's were apparently the perfect excuse for any odd behaviour she might show.

The situation with her friends only added to her feeling of isolation. She had gone through a surreal experience and there was no one she could discuss it with except for Dumbledore, whose eyes eerily twinkled every time he looked at her, McGonagall, who surveyed her with so much motherly pity that made her uncomfortable… and Snape. Yeah, as if she could talk to him. Still, they had developed a friendship of sorts in those three months out of time and in a way she felt lied to by him, as she did with Dumbledore and McGonagall but worse, because… well, she couldn't explain _why_, but she did.

Hermione had noticed that Snape dutifully ignored her in Potions class and for some reason she couldn't explain, her quintessential urge to raise her hand at every opportunity had left her completely. Maybe it was knowing the _other_ Snape, the one that had tutored her for those three months spent in the past. He had made no sign whatsoever of acknowledging their… association, but Hermione was dying to ask him. After all, he had known. For all of these years he had known. Granted he couldn't interfere, but still… Almost seven years without one single hint, not a word, not a sign. Nothing. She wondered how he would react if she was to address the matter directly… and decided that, if only to see the expression on his face, it was worth a try.

That day after Potions, she told Harry and Ron to go ahead to lunch without her and hung behind the rest of the class until the last of the students had left. Snape sat at his desk, apparently engrossed in grading papers.

"Is there a reason for you to inflict your presence upon me outside lessons, Miss Granger?"

She inhaled deeply and took a few hesitant steps towards him.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you since… since my accident with the Time Turner, Sir."

A flash of something unidentifiable crossed Snape's face, but it disappeared so fast that Hermione was left wondering if she had imagined it.

"Well?" Hermione didn't seem to notice how the irritated edge in his voice sounded oddly forced.

"I wish to thank you, Sir. For your help with the… eh… tutoring in… back then."

"That had nothing to do with me, Miss Granger. Students do not generally ignore the Headmaster's orders."

She wasn't going to let him do this to her. Her shoulders defiantly squared, she insisted, "Still, I'm grateful and I'd like to thank you."

"Is there anything else?"

So that's how it was going to be. She shook her head and turned to leave. When she had almost reached the door, Snape called out to her.

"Sir?"

"You're welcome, Miss Granger," he said, not looking up from the parchments on his desk.

They lay sprawled on a soft furry rug in front of a crackling fire, her head resting against his chest.

"They told me today I might be able to go back soon," she felt her own words reverberating inside his ribcage.

He stiffened slightly, then spoke in a low hoarse voice, "Would it be ridiculously selfish to ask you to stay?"

She sighed. "It's not my decision, I just… I can't."

A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of a log plopping inside the fireplace.

"You are… from the future, aren't you?" She craned her neck to stare up at him wide-eyed, providing all the confirmation he needed. "Don't worry, I won't ask you anything." A pause. "Just… am I there?"

She looked into his eyes and answered truthfully, "I don't know."

He wrapped his arms around her even more tightly, burying his face in her hair.

"But I promise that if you're still there, I'll find you," she added.

Hermione awoke with a start and found herself panting.

She patted the bed for her wand and whispered a soft '_Lumos_'. Her vision was blurred. When she raised a hand to her eyes, she realised with shock that sometime during her dream she had started to cry.

TBC…

_:_

_Quote from The Tempest. Ah, the fun of messing with poor Hermione's head… I really shouldn't be enjoying it so much!_


	4. Truth

_Wow… I'm overwhelmed by the response this little thing is getting. All I can say is 'Thank you!'_

_Answering a couple of questions from your reviews: The title of the story comes from a poem by Delmore Schwartz: 'Time is the school in which we learn, time is the fire in which we burn.' Although I did consider changing the title of Ch3 to 'Abyss of Time', in the end I decided I preferred being accused of bad spelling than misquoting Shakespeare. ;D I went and downloaded Cash's version of 'Hurt', but what can I say, Trent is Trent. No one besides him -not even my beloved Tori Amos- can do that song justice. _

_:_

**Four**** – Truth**

**.**

_Truth will come to light… in the end truth will out._

_:_

"Today we will start the next point of the NEWTs syllabus: Memory Charms," the diminutive Professor Flitwick announced in his high-pitched voice. "Now, can anyone give me an example of Memory Charm," several hands shot into the air, "…besides _Obliviate_?" The hands went down at once.

Flitwick looked so crestfallen that Hermione felt compelled to do something she had barely done since her return to the present. She raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Flitwick said hopefully.

"Though the most common are Memory Removing Charms such as _Obliviate_, there are countless different types of Memory Charms, some of them bordering Dark Magic," she started in her best lecturing voice, "reaching from Memory Enhancing to Memory Modifying Charms, like the ones occasionally used on Muggles or victims of traumatic experiences."

"Thank you! Five points to Gryffindor!" Flitwick was positively glowing. "As Miss Granger has pointed out, a large number of Memory Charms are considered… _dubious_, for lack of a better word. Needless to say, those will be discussed only briefly and in a strictly theoretical context. However, there are others, for example the basic form of Memory Enhancing Charms, which may prove very useful in times of intense studying such as the weeks prior to your NEWTs. Now, let's all turn to page one hundred and eleven and practise the incantation."

Hermione opened her book and glanced at the pages with barely concealed boredom. She could have done the spell with someone else's wand and her eyes closed. While the rest of the class recited the spell over and over, her mind drifted to other things.

Such as those strange dreams she couldn't make sense of and kept coming nightly. Sometimes she remembered every detail, sometimes only disjointed pieces. The thing was that they were getting more and more… well, _explicit._ It wasn't as if she had never had dreams of that sort before, but they had never felt so… 'Real,' she mentally finished. They were so vivid, she woke up feeling as if they had really happened. And the fact that her -how to call him?- her _companion_ was always the same person, and someone real, didn't help matters any…

"Very well, class. Let's divide into pairs for practice, please!" Professor Flitwick's voice cut trough her thoughts, and she looked up to find a very hopeful looking Neville Longbottom heading straight in her direction.

"Do you mind if I partner with you?" Neville asked as he came to a halt before her.

"No, of course not," she answered feebly, trying to sound sincere.

As encouraging as Hermione tried to look, the truth was that no matter how much Neville had improved in the last two years, she still felt somewhat cautious when his magical skills were concerned. He smiled shyly as if asking permission and raised his wand.

"_Mensaugeo!_"

Hermione felt as if a blade of cold fire had cut into her chest, settling between her ribs. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and the Charms classroom started to swim before her eyes.

"Longbottom! What have you done?" Flitwick shrieked.

"Nothing, I swear! I'm sure I cast the spell correctly, Sir!" Neville's anguished apology was the last thing she heard before the drumming in her ears blocked out every other sound in the room.

She was twirling a in a sea of icy darkness, while series of scenes flashed with vertiginous speed inside her mind. Warm lips roaming over her skin, his hand trembling as he clasped a necklace around her neck, black eyes begging her to stay…

The visions started to realign themselves like a huge puzzle inside her head and she realised what they really were… memories! _Her_ memories! Her head was spinning faster by the minute and dizziness engulfed her until she couldn't bear it anymore and the darkness swallowed her whole.

Snape watched as the seventh years from his Advanced Potions class slowly filled the classroom. Not for the first time, he wondered how that bunch of useless brats had possibly got through their OWLs, thus sentencing him to two more years of enduring their stupidity.

Although he would never admit that to anyone but himself, and even that only on occasion, there were a few notable exceptions to the general standard. Such as Draco, who seemed to have, if not a true gift, a certain aptitude for the art of Potion making. Or, as much as it pained him to concede, the obnoxious Potter. Or _Her_, of course. But she was in a league of her own.

And speaking of her… where was she? He couldn't remember her ever being late. Directing his best condescending sneer at Potter, he drawled, "I see Miss Granger has decided to deprive us of her unrivalled intellect today."

Harry cleared his throat and met Snape's eyes. "Hermione is in the Hospital Wing, Sir."

Snape felt a thump in his chest – only one, as is if his heart had ceased to beat. It took him all of his willpower to master his expression and lift an eyebrow in what he hoped looked like his usual contemptuous manner.

"There was an… accident in Charms class this morning," Harry continued.

"Was there, now?"

"We were… practicing Memory Enhancing Charms and she just… fainted."

Severus clenched his hand around the wand inside his pocket. He was going to hex Potter if he didn't give him more details. Embracing his anger, he and used it to spit, "And would it be farfetched to assume Mr Longbottom contributed with his invaluable input to this situation?"

The snickers from the Slytherins and guilty looks from the Gryffindors confirmed his suspicions.

"Well, Potter, be sure to inform the Head Girl that Longbottom's ineptitude does not excuse her from the essay on the properties of dragon claw due tomorrow."

Harry merely narrowed his eyes at him, incapable of hiding his hatred.

Snape rounded on the rest of the students. "Do you perhaps expect your Restorative Draught to brew itself?" he barked and waved his wand at the blackboard, where the instructions for the potion instantly appeared. The class started the brewing and he stepped into his office. Once the door was closed behind him, he leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall and breathed heavily.

She was hurt.

She was lying in the infirmary and it was entirely his fault. He should have known, he should have anticipated it… but how could he? How could he have foreseen that a simple Memory Charm –possibly not even accurately cast, if that dunderhead Longbottom was involved– would interfere with his spell?

And what had Potter said? Memory Enhancement Charms. Could it… no, it would take an extremely powerful mind to have the Buried Memory Spell annulled by such a simple charm.

'But she _is_ extremely powerful', he said to himself. This would only serve to confirm what he had known all along.

After taking several deep calming breaths, Snape returned to the class. Just as he was about to circle his desk, an unopened letter on top of his papers that hadn't been there before caught his eye. Frowning, he tore the envelope open with a sharp movement.

_Professor Snape,_

_I regret to inform you that, due to personal reasons, Miss Hermione Granger will be absent from Hogwarts for an as of yet indeterminate period of time. Until her return, all customary Head Girl duties will be assumed by the Head Boy and/or the Seventh Year Prefects._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

TBC…

:

_Quote from Othello._


	5. Winter Now I Waken

**F****ive**** – Winter Now I Waken**

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_I weep as I have never wept:  
__Oh it was summer when I slept; it's winter now I waken._

.

Hermione traced the path of a stray raindrop along the glass. Beyond the window of her room, the morning rain fell lazily over the treetops of Cadogan Place and a couple of tardy officers from the Danish Embassy arrived hurriedly to work, but she was far too lost inside her own mind for any of this to register.

She had fled from Hogwarts, showing no sign of that famous bravery Gryffindors prided themselves in. She was aware of how childish it was, to escape from her problems instead of confronting them, but she couldn't bring herself to care. After all, hadn't he done the same?

Besides, she was, at least technically, perfectly entitled to leave. She was months ahead in all of her classes and she hadn't seen her parents since Christmas -which for her had been five months before- and she missed them. Still, she was very much aware of how all this was pure rationalising.

In all her years in Hogwarts, she had never used her status as McGonagall's pet for anything selfish, but there is always a first time for everything. Not that anyone had really opposed her wish to leave. Madam Pomfrey was convinced her fainting was proof of a bad case of post-traumatic stress caused by what she had called "this poor girl's _terrible_ ordeal" and had enthusiastically supported her decision to take a short vacation.

The first thing she had done in London was Apparating to Diagon Alley. It had taken her a trip to Flourish and Blotts, two dusty books on Memory Charms and less than three hours to discover the one Snape –and she had no doubt in her mind it had been him- had used. She glanced over at the open book lying beside her on the window seat.

.

_**Buried Memory Spell or Memoria Sepulta.**_

_(also '_Memory Stealing Curse' _usu_ derog_) From 'memoria' Lat. _memory_ + 'sepultare' Lat_. to bury, cover_._

_Conceals specific portions of the subject's memory without these being deleted or altered. Origin uncertain (first rec. 1037 AD). Conceptually similar to the Fidelius Charm, but with the particularity that the individual ignores being subjected to it and consent is not required. Can only be lifted by the original caster, thus allowing access to the buried memories. Dubious legal status due to certain elements arguably constituting Dark Arts. _M.O.M. classification_: Extreme difficulty, use strongly discouraged._

Trust Neville to accidentally lift a spell like that. And trust Snape to find such an obscure, forgotten spell in the first place. Almost unknown, ridiculously complex and bordering on dark. Very much like him.

Hermione had done a lot of thinking in the last two days spent at home and reached some startling revelations. She now understood that in that time out of time she hadn't just fallen for the seventeen-year-old Severus, she had at the same time fallen for his older self. Partly because she saw the similarities between the two and partly because she had dared to acknowledge feelings she suspected had been there for quite some time.

A silly little part of her was disappointed that he hadn't rushed to London in her wake to beg forgiveness and ride her off to the sunset, but of course, Severus Snape wouldn't be caught dead doing neither of those things and besides, Hermione knew him well enough to realise that he would never confront her outside his own territory.

"Darling?" a voice said from the doorway, bringing her out of her reverie.

"Oh, hi, Mum! I didn't hear you come in."

Clare Granger could seem to the casual observer very much like an older version of Hermione, and only upon closer inspection did the differences between the two become apparent. Indeed they had many things in common, the most obvious being perhaps their tendency to overexert themselves and their bushy brown hair - only in Clare's case, time had taught her how to keep both in check, just as she was sure it would do with her daughter.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded. Knowing her mother wasn't going to be so easily fooled, she didn't bother infusing her answer with too much realism.

"Are you going to tell me who he is or will I have to guess?"

Ah, the wonders of an overly perceptive mother.

"Mum, it's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just… complicated."

"Complicated."

Hermione nodded again. A long pause followed, in which Clare moved to sit on the window seat next to her daughter, then started to soothingly stroke her hair, as if she was still a child, and waited for her to be ready to speak.

"He… he doesn't want to make room for me in his life, apparently," Hermione said finally and kept fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

"Did he tell you that?"

Somehow, Hermione didn't think her mother would be able to digest something like 'no, but he wiped out my memories of the relationship we had when I was thrown back in time and oh, did I mention he's my Professor now?'. So instead, she answered, "Let's just say he made it sufficiently clear without words."

"Sometimes people push others away not because they don't love them, but because they're too afraid to let them in," she said and tucked a stray curl behind Hermione's ear. "Allowing someone to see how much you really love and need them is the most difficult form of courage."

"As much as I'd like to believe that, Mum, I reckon in this case he truly doesn't need me."

"Maybe, maybe not. But either way, you should discuss this with him."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but her mother held up a hand to stop her.

"At least try, okay? It will be much better than living with what ifs," said Clare with an air of finality, so all her daughter could do was sigh dejectedly and nod.

"Listen, your father won't be back from that thing in Manchester until tomorrow, so… what about a girls night out? We haven't done that in ages. We could overdress terribly and go to that place you like so much, what's its name… Tofu?"

Hermione chuckled. "_Nobu_."

"Right, that's the one. So, what do you say?"

"Sounds great," she managed a weak smile to make up for her less than enthusiastic tone.

"Wonderful. That'll take your mind off mystery man," she said as she checked her watch. "Oh, I have to run, there's a terrified patient waiting for me to torture him." She kissed her daughter on the forehead and stood to leave.

Once her mother had closed the door behind her, Hermione cast a furtive glance at the quills and parchment on her desk and sighed. 'Soon,' she thought as she went back to staring out of the window. Soon.

Two days. She had been gone for two days and he was already on the verge of insanity.

He hadn't even tried to fool himself into thinking that perhaps Hermione hadn't figured things out by now. A very concrete portion of her memory disappears and only reappears when hit by a quite probably deficient Memory Charm. How long would it take Hogwarts top student to put the pieces together?

At least, he knew that she hadn't informed Dumbledore, because if she had, Snape would certainly know by now. He had performed arguably Dark Magic on a student, and as lenient as the Headmaster could be on occasion, he wasn't likely to simply overlook something of this gravity.

He had a shrewd suspicion Hermione's reason to leave the castle in such a hurry had been none other than anger. And she must have been _very_ angry, if it had been enough to abandon her studies and escape to London to seek comfort in her parents' house. He winced when he remembered the amount of covert questioning it had taken to get answers out of McGonagall without giving himself away. He only hoped Hermione's anger had subsided by the time when he would have to face her.

A persistent tapping at his window yanked him out of his thoughts. Grunting, he stood up and opened the window to retrieve the letter from the owl's outstretched leg.

_Professor Snape,_

_Since I will be returning to Hogwarts on Sunday, I would appreciate it if you would notify me of a suitable time to discuss certain matters of our common interest._

_HG_

He had to admit that, given her House's penchant for subtlety, he had expected a Howler screaming _'I'm onto you!_' instead of such a… _civil _letter. Although of course, the message was in essence the same.

In any case, she was dropping the Quaffle in his court. Which meant her anger had indeed subsided somehow and she had discarded going to Dumbledore or, at least, going to Dumbledore before hearing him out.

Well, she may have a relative advantage, but he certainly knew how to make her uncomfortable enough to forget it, a lifetime of necessity had taught him to.

Fortunately for him, he had even greater experience in dealing with guilt.

Hermione gave the tawny school owl a handful of pumpkin seeds and nervously twirled the letter in her hand. It was the usual creamy Hogwarts stationary but the seal, instead of the familiar crest, showed two entwined snakes forming his initials. How very Slytherin of him. Sighing, she finally gathered the nerve to open it.

_Miss Granger,_

_I have been informed of your arrival at the castle on Sunday evening. Please report to my office after dinner._

_SS _

On his own terms, of course. But still, it was better than nothing. Now all she had to do was find that courage she had apparently lost somewhere along the way.

TBC…

:

_Quote from Christina Rossetti's 'A Daughter of Eve'. I'm not sure whether you can actually see the entrance to the Danish Embassy from where Hermione's window is supposed to be. Please think of it as a literary licence - pretty much like getting a table at Nobu for that same evening. ;D See? I was nice this time and gave you a perfectly cliffhanger-free chapter!_


	6. White Flag

_This chapter was a pain to write for many reasons – to say Snape was uncooperative would be the understatement of the decade. I listened __to Dido's new album on loop while writing – and it shows. You'll know what I mean in a minute._

:

**Six - White Flag**

_In secret we met_  
_In silence I grieve_  
_That thy heart could forget,_  
_Thy spirit deceive._

:

Snape didn't attend dinner the evening Hermione arrived at the castle, and she didn't know whether to interpret this as a good sign -he was nervous about meeting in public- or a very bad one -he was nervous about meeting in public and her making a scene-.

Harry had once told her after their fourth year that the more he had dreaded the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament, the faster they seemed to draw closer, and she couldn't help but think that she felt the same way; the more her fear of facing Severus grew, the faster the hours seemed to go by.

After having spent the last half hour pushing food around her plate, she left the Great Hall with Ron and Harry but hastily excused herself when they reached the doors, muttering a few words about some imaginary Head Girl business she was supposed to discuss with McGonagall.

Her knees were shaking on her way to the dungeons and she scolded herself for her own weakness. She busied herself transfiguring her school robes into a black polo neck and jeans - no need to look like the scared little girl she felt like, after all.

Finally in front of his door, Hermione realised there were so many different emotions stirring inside of her that she didn't know what she was feeling anymore. One of those emotions, one she could recognise, was fear. Not of him, though, but of not being able to see the sharp humour behind the sarcasm and the pain behind the bitterness. Not being able to recognise the man she loved behind the persona of the evil Potions Master she was sure he would put up for their meeting. She knocked.

"Enter."

Hermione walked in with a determination she couldn't be further from feeling. She had been in his office only a handful of times over the years. The room was shadowy and unwelcoming, with small windows carved into the cliff on the side of the castle that she supposed overlooked the lake, but were too covered in dust to be sure.

Snape gestured vaguely at a chair opposite the one he was occupying and Hermione took a seat.

"I received your owl." She knew he would note the deliberate absence of 'Sir' or 'Professor'. A statement if Snape ever saw one.

"Obviously," he replied curtly.

'_You are in control, remember, you are in control. You have the upper hand_,' Hermione chanted inside her head, trying not to let his coolness affect her.

"So… what do you have to say for yourself?"

Snape watched her impassively and raised an eyebrow in what could be interpreted as surprise or disdain, she wasn't sure. Hermione held his glare in defiance. '_You're not going to get to me that easily_'.

"I merely tried to choose what I believed would be best for you." No 'Miss Granger', but no 'Hermione' either.

"And that gave you the right to wipe away my memories?"

Snape snorted impatiently and looked away. "There's no need to be melodramatic. I didn't _wipe_ anything, I simply…"

"Hid them inside my brain where I could never find them unless you allowed me to?" she interrupted him.

"That's not…" he started but was abruptly cut off again.

"Forget it," she said, raising one hand, "I'm not in the mood for empty excuses. Besides, I think I now understand why you did it."

Snape's head shot up at this before he had time to stop himself. "You do?" he asked, momentarily forgetting to feign indifference.

"Of course," she said, shrugging. "You obviously wanted to avoid an embarrassing situation at all costs, so you took the easy way out. I'm an adult, Severus." A strange feeling passed through him at her absent-minded use of his given name. "I wouldn't have expected you to - I'm aware things aren't the same."

'Oh, but they very much are,' a treacherous voice inside his head reminded him.

"I'm not trying to make your life harder or return to where we were, I'm not that foolish," she continued. "But you can't expect me to pretend nothing happened between us because it did and I'm not going to play along just to make you feel more comfortable."

"You're being unreasonable," he said and shook his head condescendingly.

"Oh, am I? Well, forgive me if I haven't had twenty bloody years to recover!" she spat, furious all of a sudden. "And you could at least look at me when I speak to you!"

The sides of his mouth twitched imperceptibly. He had won. She had lost control and placed herself in a weak position, despite theoretically being the one with the upper hand.

This was what he did, this was the way in which he related to others - in terms of power. It unnerved him greatly being the weak party so he had played his cards to turn the situation around. And had succeeded. He didn't stop to examine why this was bringing him no satisfaction whatsoever.

"I will not apologise to you for taking what I considered the best alternative at that moment, even though I am certain you would have made a much wiser choice had you been in my place."

"Don't mock me when you know perfectly well what you should've done, you should've talked to me about it instead of wriggling your way out with your Slytherin schemes!"

"You are aware of the irony in that statement, aren't you?" he retorted with surprising venom.

"Irony?" Hermione asked in puzzlement, having no idea what he was getting at.

"When a Slytherin conceals the truth, it's always his cunning devious nature to blame, is it not? But what happens when a Gryffindor does the same?"

"I never lied to you!" she protested.

"Really? I don't recall you mentioning some of the minor details regarding your provenance twenty years ago."

"And what exactly was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "perhaps 'See you when you're forty' would've been appropriate."

Absurdly, the first answer that came to her mind was 'but you're not forty'. Hermione stared at the floor. She hated him for making things so difficult, but at the same time she still physically ached to go to him. How dared he treat her like that, when less than three weeks ago he was… She shook her head to compose herself before speaking again, this time with a different tactic.

"The necklace… you took it while I was unconscious." Not a question.

He surveyed her with interest and a drop of apprehension. Was she going to demand it back?

"It belonged to my mother. She…" he paused to consider briefly how much to say. "Not many of her personal effects survived the First War." It was a pretext, of course, but he hoped she would understand it as an apology. When she shifted uncomfortably and let out a meek "Oh", he knew that she had.

The conversation came to another one of those pauses one can't avoid when there's too much to say and not enough courage to say it. Hermione sighed inwardly. She had enough insight into Snape's mind to know that he was keeping an advantage by staying silent and thus forcing her to always speak first.

"Why not simply _Obliviate_ me?"

"Well…"

"And spare me that rubbish about needing the Headmaster's permission, because I doubt the Memory Stealing Curse is exactly _encouraged_ by Hogwarts regulations."

He sighed. "To be honest, I have no explanation for that."

"Try," she urged tersely.

He stayed silent for so long that Hermione started to think he wasn't going to answer, after all.

"Perhaps," he began finally, "perhaps I needed to preserve those memories even if it was… in this manner, because they were my only proof that those days had truly existed and were not just a figment of my imagination. It wasn't supposed to… I really don't understand…"

"What you don't understand," she interrupted him and got to her feet, moving to stand directly in front of his chair, "is that those memories weren't engraved here," she pointed at her temple, "but _here_," she finished, leaning forward and placing one open-palmed hand on his chest and the other over her own heart. "A spell might erase things stored in our mind, but things kept here," she pounded her chest, "live forever."

She withdrew her hand after a moment and Snape felt strangely bereft by the loss of contact.

"You were aware of what… what was bound to happen," he said after a while.

She examined his face, trying to tell where he was heading. "I was."

"Then… why?"

"Why what?"

"You knew that I would follow the Dark Lord and yet…"

Hermione smiled and shook her head disbelievingly.

"For all your Potions and your Dark Arts, Severus, you are nothing but a fool. And you've just proved you don't know me at all. Back then you did, or I thought you did, but obviously you've forgotten. You don't need one of your sinister spells to bury things inside your mind where not even you can find them, do you?"

He was dying to know exactly what she meant by that, but before he had time to find a way of asking her, she spoke again. "What happens now?"

Severus sighed. "I cannot change what was in the past, Hermione, but I must beg you to understand the precarious position I find myself in and how _different_ it is from the one then."

She let out a weird sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "What are you trying to say?"

"I am merely drawing your attention to the fact that we are at war and any personal… liabilities would greatly complicate my duties. Not to mention the complete inappropriateness of any association outside the classroom. "

"So this is it? Back to business as usual?"

"What is it you want from me?" he said, his voice betraying for the first time a weariness and desperation that made her heart contract. "Don't you understand that I'm not the same man, that those promises…"

"If you want me to relieve you of them," she cut in, her voice suddenly calm, "I do. But I for my part promised - you probably don't remember, but I promised… _him_ that if he was still there in the future, I'd find him." She searched his eyes for a reaction, any reaction, but found none. "Obviously, he isn't." The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

"Obviously," he said, impassive. "Which means that you too are free of your promise, then."

Hermione nodded numbly, thinking how the word free had never sounded less appealing or void of significance.

She felt the impulse to go to him, to shout that she wasn't about to raise the white flag and surrender, to beg even, to do anything except leaving because that would mean giving up and conceding defeat… but she didn't.

She just spun on her heel and wordlessly left the room.

TBC…

:

_Oh, come on… you didn't honestly expect them to kiss and make up so easily, did you? ;)_

_Quote from Lord Byron__'s 'When We Two Parted'__. The thing about needing the Headmaster's permission to Obliviate is a reference to my other SS/HG fic. Although completely independent, that story gets a whole new dimension when you read it with this one as back story. Creepy, in a way, because I didn't plan it at all._


	7. The Fire In Which We Burn

_A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, it really means a lot!_

_The wondrous Gedia Kacela has graciously agreed to let me borrow a line from 'Torn Asunder'__, a fic I can't recommend enough._

.

**Seven – The Fire In Which We Burn**

_May memory restore again and again_  
_The smallest color of the smallest day:_  
_Time is the school in which we learn,_  
_Time is the fire in which we burn._

.

As a child, Hermione had been told that Hell was the place where bad people were sent to burn in for all eternity. War, however, had taught her that Hell is a place on earth that even the safest of havens can be turned into. A place filled with flashes of sickening green light and the lifeless bodies of friends covering the ground.

Hell is knowing there is a fate worse than death, and that the man you love has been sentenced to it.

She had last seen Snape alone one week before the end. In the library, of all places. She had been researching ancient protective spells for Harry and turned around to find him standing at the door to the Restricted Section. One of the dusty volumes from the pile in her arms had fallen to the floor and slid over the polished marble up to his feet.

"I miss you," she had whispered when he had come closer to hand her the book.

_And I you_. His voice had resounded so clear and strong in her head that for a moment she had let herself believe he had really uttered those three words, even though her eyes had never left his face and she was sure his lips hadn't moved. Before she had time to say anything else, he had spun on his heel and left in a swirl of billowing black robes.

One week later, it was all over. Or so they said. Hermione, however, didn't feel the relief everyone seemed to have been engulfed by since the death of Voldemort. Or maybe she had, until she had known about Snape – who cared, she couldn't remember anyway.

For her, another war had begun one week ago, when Severus had been found at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, unconscious, hit with a curse not even Dumbledore could break. This time it was a war against the rage at her own powerlessness, a rage that threatened to corrode her from the inside like acid. All the knowledge she had so greedily accumulated over the years was suddenly rendered worthless, useless, a mockery.

But the worst of all was by far the fact that she hadn't been allowed to see him. Her few off-handed attempts to visit Severus had been rejected point blank by Madam Pomfrey, and she wasn't about to reveal the real reasons why she had to see him. Perhaps McGonagall would have let her, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to ask, partly for fear of having to explain herself and partly for fear the elderly witch, that surrogate mother of sorts, would already know - and Hermione didn't think she could take her pity, not now.

So she spent her days working tirelessly in the Hospital Wing, helping Madam Pomfrey assist the countless wounded. It both kept her too busy to think and helped ease the guilt she felt for wishing it had been any of those patients instead of him…

"Miss Granger." Hermione wheeled around to face a particularly sombre Dumbledore. He looked older than ever; the legendary twinkle in his eyes seemed to have vanished together with his students' innocence.

"Headmaster. How can I help you?"

"I wish to have a word with you, Miss Granger."

"Is there something wrong?" she suddenly realised the absurdity of the question, given the circumstances. "Other than the obvious," she added, gesturing at their surroundings.

"It's a matter concerning Professor Snape."

Hermione felt her heart stop beating altogether, then start again slowly, painfully, gaining force until its pounding grew so loud in her ears she was sure Dumbledore could hear it.

"Is he… is he…"

"Perhaps we should take this to my office."

With surprising strength for a man of his age, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the infirmary and along dark corridors Hermione had never seen until they found themselves in front of the familiar stone gargoyle ('_Fawkes Night'_) and then inside his office.

"Please sit down."

Hermione obeyed, mostly because she didn't trust herself to stand without someone holding her.

"As you are aware of, Professor Snape has been hit with a curse we ignore the counter curse for. We are trying to determine the origin of his state, but so far we have been unsuccessful. And…"

"And?" she whispered.

"He's not fighting for his life, to tell you the truth," Dumbledore sighed dejectedly, then seemed to compose himself and continued in a much more pragmatic tone, "Therefore, I believe it would be wise to prepare ourselves for the worst."

"But he's still alive, he could…"

"There are certain… particulars about Professor Snape that we should discuss, Miss Granger."

"He's not dead." The unspoken 'yet' hung like an almost physical presence between them.

Dumbledore apparently thought better to ignore her protests. "Severus left something in my possession to be forwarded to you should he…"

"He's not dead," she repeated stubbornly.

Dumbledore remained silent and smiled benignly with the patient expression one would give a particularly obstinate toddler. He then raised and opened one of the wooden cabinets, retrieving a small silver box, which he handed to her. On its top, a pair of entwined serpents formed a double S.

Hermione held it in her hands for a minute, so absorbed in tracing the serpents with her forefinger that she didn't hear the Headmaster leave. She _knew_ what she would find inside, which was why she was so terrified of opening it. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself. After a moment, she somehow found the courage and lifted the lid.

Inside the box was a necklace with an emerald pendant. And underneath the necklace, a neatly folded piece of parchment. She breathed deeply and took it with trembling hands.

_Many words, perhaps too many, were left unsaid between us. It is my sincere hope that, despite how my actions may have suggested otherwise, you will realise how grateful I am to you. You gave me the happiest three months of my life, Hermione, and I am painfully aware of how poor a payment this necklace is in return. Once this war is over, a whole world of promise and possibility will be waiting for you and therefore my advice, my strong, strong advice, is to forget me. Do what you must to accomplish this, but know that my parting will not be painful, for you will be in my mind._

_S._

The letter fluttered to the floor.

"Severus, you bastard…," she buried her face in her hands and began to sob hysterically. _B__astardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastardbastard__…_

He had loved her all along and yet he had done everything in his power to make Hermione hate him. And in a way she had, but merely for pushing her away out of his misguided sense of honour and generosity.

And then another thought made its way through the chaos in her mind: he still loved her. Wiping her eyes hastily, Hermione stood up and walked to the door. She needed to see him.

He wasn't in the Hospital Wing, a sign of the finality of his state. 'Because he's not ill, Hermione, he's dead,' a nasty voice said inside her head, 'There's nothing the mediwizards can do for him.' Hermione told the voice to shut up.

She wondered vaguely how Dumbledore had known that she was coming and whether he had announced her visit, because the nurse who opened the door to Severus' chambers hadn't looked even remotely surprised to see her, let alone made the slightest move to stop her.

Snape looked ghostlier than ever, his face even paler against the black curtains of hair fanning over the pillows. Hermione sat on the chair beside his bed and moved it until her head stood level with his.

"I got your letter. And the… the other thing. Thank you - again."

Her rational mind kept telling her that she shouldn't be disappointed at the absolute lack of reaction, that she had known what it would be like - but he was there, she _knew_ he was still there, hidden inside that apparently empty shell.

"I know that you can hear me, wherever you are. You're a daft git, Severus. Did you really think you'd get rid of me that easily? That you could trick me into hating you? You probably were very pleased with yourself this past month, weren't you? Thinking you had done the _noble_ thing," she let out a derisive snort. "You're such a bastard… making me wish I didn't… I didn't… love you as much as I do," she wiped her cheeks angrily. "Why is it so hard when I used to say it all the time? Not that you would remember, after twenty years. But I do… I remember everything."

She was leaning so close to him now that his hair moved with every one of her laboured breaths. "And I love you. And if you don't wake up I will go to that place you're hiding at and drag you back by that awful hair of yours, you hear me?"

She rested her head against his chest, needing the reassurance of his heartbeat, knowing it would be all the answer she would get. "I don't care how long it takes; I'm going to be here when you wake up. Tomorrow, next month or in thirty years," she finished, barely above a whisper.

Hermione awoke to the feeling of a weight pressing against the back of her head. Moving slightly, she realised that Snape's hand was entangled in the mass of her hair.

"Am I dead?"

TBC…

:

_Quote from 'Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day' by Delmore Schwatz. __Oh, and in case you were wondering, I think that thing in the library was a bit of unintentional Legilimency, but you'll have to ask Snape._


	8. The Edge of Doom

_Special thanks to S. for believing I could do better and bullying me into trying! If there was a soundtrack to this chapter, it would have to be Brian Eno's 'By This River' – not only is it a beautiful song, it also helped a lot while writing._

.

**Eight – The Edge of Doom**

.

_Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come.  
Love alters not with its brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out, even to the edge of doom._

.

:

Hermione jerked bolt upright. Snape's eyes were closed and he breathed evenly, just like before she had fallen asleep. Had she perhaps imagined it?

"Severus?"

His eyes fluttered open and stared ahead unfocused for a second, but he quickly closed them again.

"Severus?" she repeated, more anxious this time.

Snape opened his eyes all the way and looked at her cautiously, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe she was really there.

Hermione smiled. "I knew you'd wake up, I just _knew_, I…"

"You seem awfully relieved for someone so certain I'd recover," he interrupted her.

As she laughed, endless days of fear and guilt and despair evaporated, leaving nothing but glorious relief in their place. She threw her arms around him and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks… her lips lingered for a moment before his and, surprising both, it was him who finally closed the distance. It occurred to Hermione that he was pouring every ounce of fear and hurt and loneliness, every bit of his soul into that kiss, claiming her mouth with the raw abandon only the nearness of death can bring.

When they parted, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling that scent that was uniquely him, unchanged after all that time and he laid his chin on her head.

After a long silence, he asked, barely daring to, "Is it… over?"

She nodded and leaned back to look at him. "Harry did it - as we all knew he would," she added as an afterthought. Suddenly looking amused for no apparent reason, she said, "And before you ask, he failed to get himself killed in the process."

The slightest smile tugged at the corners of Snape's mouth. "He disappeared two days ago and no one has any idea where he went to," she continued.

Looking sideways as if expecting Rita Skeeter to jump from behind the cupboard, Hermione whispered, "I haven't told anyone, but we spoke before he left. He told me he has spent so long feeling as if his only purpose in life was to kill Voldemort that he had never considered what _he_ wanted," she sighed. "He says he needs to find a _reason_. Between you and me, what he really needs to find is nice girl, settle down and have lots of sex and babies. Don't sneer, you know I'm right."

A long pause followed in which they did nothing but relish in each other's warmth until, all of a sudden, Hermione seemed to remember something and disentangled herself from him, hurriedly getting to her feet. "I should go and fetch Dumbledore," she made to leave but a firm hand closed around her wrist.

"Stay," his eyes were fixed on the ceiling above him. She wondered vaguely what he expected her reaction to be and how he could possibly think she would refuse. "Stay," he repeated.

"I… I suppose we could tell them later," she said and sat back on the chair by his beside.

His hand slid from her wrist but she caught it, entwining their fingers before he could pull away. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes moved from the ceiling to rest on her face.

And he exhaled.

:

A week turned into three and then into seven, and spring crept up on the castle with particular exuberance, as if Nature wished to join in the celebrations of the wizarding world.

Severus was recovering surprisingly fast, and quite soon he felt strong enough to stand up and a little later, strong enough to take a short walk around the grounds, and so walks with Hermione around the lake quickly became a daily ritual.

Nothing had happened between them since that kiss, but Hermione tried to content herself with the fact that he hadn't pushed her away. Yet. There was the casual pressure of his hand on her shoulder, leaning for support, or a slight brushing of fingers, but every contact seemed unintentional and random, a necessity sprung of Hermione taking care of him - a nurse's touch, not a lover's.

Sometimes she caught him staring at her, and a glimpse of fire was visible before he closed his expression again with practiced ease. Those glimpses were what kept her sane, what kept her there.

Hermione knew she'd never feel brave enough to openly question him about the state of their relationship –or lack thereof- but she wondered whether this uncertainty would end up being too much and making her blurt out the wrong question at the wrong time.

One day she found him standing in the middle of the third floor corridor, staring at a painting of a sunny Mediterranean village that seemed oddly out of place in a Scottish castle. At first, she was too preoccupied wondering how he had managed to climb six flights of stairs by himself and why he hadn't acknowledged her presence when he obviously must have heard her to realise exactly _where_ he was standing. The secret entrance to the chambers Dumbledore had given her… _then_.

Snape raised a hand and Hermione watched fascinated as it hovered before the painting –for how long, she couldn't tell, time had stood still– and finally touched the clock in the church's tower. The wall shimmered for a moment, then seemed to disintegrate, revealing a dark narrow corridor. Severus walked in and Hermione followed suit.

The old mahogany desk, the fireplace, the door to the bedroom… her quarters, for Hermione couldn't help thinking of them as hers, hadn't changed much in twenty years.

Severus was inspecting the room with strange interest. After seven years of reading the slightest changes in his expression -as a lover, yes, but even longer as a student- Hermione could tell that he was frantically looking for something. 'But _what_?' she kept asking inside her head, 'What?'

He now stood in front of the fireplace, staring unblinking at the cold hearth. "There have been two wars since I last stepped into this room," he said so softly Hermione didn't know whether she was supposed to hear him.

"Why do you think I lived?" he suddenly asked and rounded on her, taking her completely by surprise.

The answer came at once, instinctive and truthful. "Because I needed you to."

His eyes were boring into hers with such intensity that she could almost physically feel the weight of his stare. A part of her wanted to look away, to keep him in the dark in the same way that he had, but she held his gaze, wishing for him to read every corner of her mind, to take in every ounce of feeling that had remained unspoken, and when he finally averted his eyes, she somehow knew that he had.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and left in a swirl of billowing black robes.

He never mentioned that incident again, and neither did she, but sometimes she feared it had been a figment of her imagination, born of her desperate need to break the perpetual impasse their relationship seemed to be frozen at.

And so she waited. In the meantime, she clung to those walks around the lake alone with him, when she could pretend they were a couple who didn't need words, instead of two strangers avoiding them.

The sun changed from glowing white to a dull red without rays and without heat as it neared the lake's surface. Hermione winced when unexpectedly hit by a memory with the power of a very physical, very real blow. The same sun and the same lake and the same two people… she shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She shook her head no but wrapped her cloak tighter around herself all the same, the warmth of the soft spring evening now gone. They continued their walk in silence.

On the far corner of the lake grew a wide cluster of water lilies. They were much larger than the non-magical variety and bloomed in all sorts of gorgeous colours, and Hermione was reminded of the paintings she had once seen with her parents in Paris.

As she leaned forward to touch one of the flowers, the necklace she was wearing slipped from under the collar of her robes and caught one of the last red sunrays, drawing Snape's attention. Something indefinable crossed his features, suddenly becoming determination. Taking the pendant in his hand, he pointed his wand at it and the necklace was instantly transfigured into an emerald solitaire.

"There's something… something I've been meaning to ask you."

:

Time is a funny thing.

When I was little, I believed it only advanced in one direction, that it just moved ahead inexorably – I now know, however, that Time also leaps backwards, swirls, meanders and wrinkles in ways far beyond our comprehension.

One of those inexplicable wrinkles changed my life forever and taught me that, even though we may generally be nothing but fools in the hands of Time, there are a few things that defy and survive it, existing immune to its power.

Love is one of those things, as I'm reminded whenever I look at my wedding ring.

There is no date engraved on the inside, because my husband and I couldn't agree on which one to use. So, instead of a number that meant nothing, he chose a verse that, at least for us two, means everything.

Taking off the ring, I twirl it absently between my fingers. The inscription glimmers in the soft candlelight and I smile, as I do every time I see it.

_Love's Not Time's Fool_.

Certainly not.

**- The End -**

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_Quote from Sonnet CXVI. The last two chapters probably owe a lot to 'What the Future Holds' by Ehann, one of my favourite fics of all time and that you just need to read, in the improbable case that you haven't already. And there's a shout out to a film I'm pretty sure we've all seen last Christmas. _

_Wow, I can't believe it's over!_

_I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review, and also to everyone who voted for this fic at Dark Sarcasm - never in a million years would I have imagined making the Top 10! I wish I had something more eloquent to say than 'Thank you' to show how unbelievably grateful I am._


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